Six Weeks on the Carretera Austral

Days 15 & 16 – Friday and Saturday March 11 & 12: R & R at Yelcho Fishing Lodge

Slow days both, resting from the whitewater rafting and preparing for the next days of riding. On Friday we did little but get our gear sorted and dry ourselves out. It was windy and rainy, but still a few in our party tried fishing – with some success:  a bunch of small rainbows that they tossed right back into the lake. Others went for a hike but couldn’t find the proper trailhead. Our guides started work on the bikes, getting rid of grit and lubing the drivetrains.

Lake Yelcho Lodge (LakeYelcho.com) has a large main lodge and perhaps seven or eight self-catering cabins. We divided the group into four people apiece in two cabins and our three guides in a third. Each place has splendid views out over the lake, wood stoves for heating the large living space, kitchens and decks for lounging in good weather. We all eat breakfast and dinner in the main lodge, with its high beamed ceilings and lovely space with couches and a bar. Luxury compared with what we’ve grown accustomed to.

The evening of our first day here brought us to the main lodge bar, waiting for dinner to start. We met two fishermen from Colorado, one of whom was a fishing guide and has been coming here for about 15 years. This day they both had caught rainbow trout as big as large salmon: the biggest weighed 22kg (over 45 lbs.). Of course there were photos. In the picture the guide holds the fish sideways towards the camera, and it stretched nearly three feet long. They released both fish. Maybe they have a date for next year? The eyes of our guide Tikka, also an avid fisherman, were out on stalks.

Our second day at Lake Yelcho involved an afternoon trip to the Parque Pumelin, some twenty-five miles north of the lake. We hiked a beautiful trail through the forests and gawked at hanging glaciers we could see far up on a volcano. The vegetation is dense and lush, and the most outstanding plants are the Gunnera with their gigantic leaves, some easily six feet across. And there are vined fuchsias that cover the trunks of trees like English Ivy. As it turns out, crossing the Andes from Bariloche brought us into a really different microclimate.

 At the end of the hike we traveled up a long side road that led to a huge hot spring, where we jumped in for a true spa finish.

Tomorrow it’s off on a fairly serious day of riding – between 80 and 95k on gravel, so we’ll need to be rested.

PS. This on Tuesday morning: we have been far from any internet connection for three days, and this one is very slow. Hope it makes it!

Days 17 – Saturday March 13: The long road to La Junta

We began early, screaming down a steep grade into Santa Lucia, 70km from La Junta, where we thought our next night’s stay was located. Later we were to be disabused of that notion. In the meantime the road was unpaved but reasonably well-graded; the weather was cool but not raining, and we made steady progress along relatively flat terrain. Winding its way along a river valley, the road dipped and rolled with the scenery, with mountains ranging off in the distance and forested foothills on either side. Two dogs from Santa Lucia – a large brindle and a small terrier – followed us for miles, happily running alongside the bikes. Oddly, towards the end the larger dog seemed exhausted while the little guy kept scampering gamely on short legs. On our entire trip we have yet to meet an unfriendly dog. 

Two or three hours into the ride, near the top of a long dusty grade, we came across a small tin-roofed cabin with a fenced yard and a sign proclaiming “Fundo Violeta” and another one promising “English spoken here.” There were chickens in the yard and cats on the porch. Otherwise it seemed deserted and we stopped if only to get a picture. But as we approached we heard music blaring from inside, so we mounted the steps and knocked. The door was opened by Violeta herself, a welcoming woman with plenty of frizzy black hair that she unsuccessfully tried to secure in an unruly bun. Clearly she lived alone in the small cabin, sleeping on a narrow cot near the stove. As our party arrived by bike and truck and trailer we all piled inside for some fresh Nescafe, the perfect cheerful late morning break. Forty five minutes later we left in a great mood. From Violeta’s, by the way, I’m sending a picture of Tom trying on a hat in his continuing search for the perfect one.

So time passed and we pedaled on; about 30km outside of La Junta we took a short break for lunch, and as we stood eating our sandwiches and drinking the mysterious blue fluid supplied by our guides, we spied a couple of bicycle riders approaching from the opposite direction. The first, a woman, passed by without stopping, but the young man a few hundred yards back pulled up to chat. He was Israeli, like Danny who came on our rafting trip, and he was traveling for six months through South America by bike. I noticed that he was really thin (who wouldn’t be, pedaling with that load), and as we talked he kept eying our slices of ham and cheese intently. Early on someone offered him and olive, which he snapped up, but I could see that he kept watching the tray with unusual interest. Then the food was gone; we said goodbye, he pedaled away and we pressed on.

After what seemed like a long time later the road began to climb in a more pronounced fashion, and finally, after a long downhill and a quick shot across a new orange bridge, we arrived at the edge of the village of La Junta. Alas, there was bad news:  our hostel, La Suena, still lay 16km away, off on a side road. So we pressed forward again, passing the spectacular scenery of Lake Rossilot until we came to a small stony lane leading upwards to the left. This was it: the sting in the end of the ride’s tail. We groaned our way steeply upward (too steep to haul the trailer) a little over a kilometer to find a strangely Alpine scene:  a meadow set on a shelf overlooking a river valley and surrounded by towering snowcapped peaks. Here was the farmhouse of La Suena, a farm covering thousands of hectares, mostly still wooded. The celebratory beer was delivered to the sunny deck where we basked in wonder.

There were sheep and cows in the fields around, and a couple horses, plus a vast chicken coop and a greenhouse. The place was clearly self-sufficient. Just down from the main house was a structure that had windows looking out over the valley below and, inside, a huge cement-lined fire pit with a metal hood perhaps seven feet wide and five feet deep. A long table with benches on either side sat next to the windows. This was where supper was to be prepared and eaten, and we watched as our host spitted huge pieces of lamb and began to roast them over the fire. Hours later – at 9:00 – we began our most memorable feast so far. Fresh lamb, done to perfection, with all the trimmings.

Finally we retired, greasy-faced and smiling. This had been our longest day so far:  93km. And we’d need our rest for the next day’s ride, which was now 16km longer than we had anticipated.

Days 18 – Monday March 14: Puyuhaupi or bust; Rain!

From El Sueno we headed down the steep drive again towards the road to La Junta; from there we continued uninterrupted to the coastal town of Puyuhuapi. A reasonable ride today, 63km, again following a river valley and eventually passing by the huge lake of Queulat National Park. The road turns into a virtual roller coaster there, with steep steep uphills and downhills and treacherous potholes waiting to snap at our tires. The town itself appears from a hill two or three miles away, so that the final run into Puyuhuapi sweeps down a long curving road into the village streets, paved (oddly, we thought) with gray and tan concrete pavers.

For the first time we have ridden through an entire day of rain: some light, some heavy, but steady, unrelenting, cold, exhausting. Happily our cabins at the Cabanas Aonikenk were already warmed when we arrived, and we gratefully changed into dry clothes. Everyone took a nap and then went to scope out the town:  two short lanes, three or four supermercados, a community center and a restaurant. The only settlement for many miles in any direction. Puyuhapi, still part of the national park, is actually a tiny port located at the end of a fjord perhaps seventy five to a hundred miles from open water.

In any case, things are beginning to feel remote.

Days 19 & 20 – Tuesday and Wednesday March 15 & 16: Puyuhaupi Pleasures

Tuesday morning dawned with continuing rain and fog, cold gray and grim. We felt pleased not to be riding, particularly after the grueling day getting into Puyuhuapi. We were lodged in small but cunningly contrived cabins, four riders in each, less than a hundred yards from the shore. The cabins each had a kerosene heater, but there was apparently a shortage of kerosene, so some went cold. The main communal space had a great room with tables for meals and an upper mezzanine level with further lounging space. So while we lounged, Dario and Tikka set about cleaning the drivetrains of the bicycles, which all had troublesome accumulations of grit and mud. In the afternoon all but Bram and John went off on a misty hike in the clouds and rain to catch sight of a hanging glacier. By the time they returned, wet and tired, it was dinnertime and we feasted again. 

Wednesday turned into an amazing treat. It was raining fairly energetically, but during a short pause in the showers we gathered outside on the road to pose a picture for Ray’s Mother, Rita, who turned 100 (!) today. Meantime, David arranged for us all to go by boat in the late morning to a hot springs about 10 miles up the fjord. So about 10:00 we set off in a covered boat maybe 25 feet long, powered by an old outboard Evinrude 50hp motor. It took an hour on the water, passing miles of deserted, lush and beautiful shoreline – even in the clouds and rain – to reach our destination. We expected something like the rather dilapidated hot springs we had visited on our trip from Lake Yelcho, but our first glimpse of what was in store for us was the sight of a huge white power yacht, perhaps 130 feet long, anchored near the mouth of an inlet. A sleek inflatable was zipping across the water towards the yacht; we thought it might be ferrying royalty.

In any case, as we rounded the heavily wooded edge of the protected inlet we saw our destination: the Puyuhuapi Lodge and Spa. From half a mile away we could see that it sported wooden towers and sweeping verandas, that it was unmistakably upmarket. An iconic moment: among the boats moored at the dock off to the side was a pilothouse sailing ketch, cutter rigged, some 50 to 60 feet long. Imagine our amazement as we docked and disembarked our water taxi to enter this extremely luxurious resort, marvelously appointed and gracious. Oh, the sweetness.

Inside we were welcomed and shown the heated spas. The inside one, beneath a three-story glass roof, was perhaps thirty by forty feet, with a swim-up bar, a secondary jacuzzi, and yet another, smaller, private round spa. Three opted in for the indoor experience. The rest of us followed a long wooded path to a pool-like outside spa, and beyond that, a grotto spa just up the hill from a squarish very hot spa that looked out over the inlet. After an hour and a half, totally prunish, we showered and headed for a mid-afternoon lunch in the main lodge. The smiling waiters were dressed in tight bitten white jackets; the tables were covered with linen table clothes and napkins; the glasses sparkled even in the gray light.

By the time we returned to Puyuhuapi in our boat we were ready for a nap. Then it was time for packing, dinner, and getting set for our next ride. Rumor had it that it included riding up over a pass with 33 switchbacks. But for the moment we felt like Roman gladiators, paid ahead of time. 

Day 21– Thursday March 17: The road to Villa Amengual

And so it was: a 91km ride, 50km on potholed gravel in the rain, including those 33 switchbacks over Quelat Pass. We started early out of Puyuhuapi and made our way along the edge of the fjord before turning inland. After about 40km we started up the steep road to the pass, which snaked back and forth while gaining over 1600 feet in about 4 miles. The way down was tricky, steep with loose rock and gravel mixed with mud, but at the foot of the road we found pavement waiting for us to finish the last 40km into Villa Amengual.

Also waiting for us at the end of the day was our destination, the completely delightful Cabanas Lago Las Torres, where we arrived fairly exhausted, having climbed over 5100 feet. This ranch and fishing lodge had several cabins, all vintage. The largest one was a kind of lodge house where we ate dinner and breakfast at a long table and hung out rehydrating. On the walls were framed faded photos of men holding big fish up to the admiring camera, and next to the coffee table in front of the woodstove crouched a stuffed puma, four or five feet long. It had seen better times even as a stuffed animal; now it had only one glass eye and seemed to be running out of stuffing. Clearly the same taxidermist had been at work stuffing a large toothy fish about three feet long mounted over the dining room mantle; it sported a permanent grimace but gave off a vaguely cartoonish air.

The whole place was owned by woman in her thirties, well over six feet tall and always in a baseball cap, with a small Indian helper. Together they cooked up our food on a wood stove, and we came to learn that the ranch/fishing lodge itself existed completely off the grid, supplying its electricity needs with a stream generator, and all the rest of its energy needs for heating and cooking using wood.

It was an early night. Even though the next day was relatively short, we needed to recharge.